#about the first point it never feels like he's reciting anything let alone a 400 year old play. it's so effortless and poetic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

francoiserenaldt · 4 years

Text

week three

last week | next week

warnings: several mentions of death, potentially triggering references to c****a, angst central, desirée is Bad At Feelings

word count: 1951

Sunday, August 17th, 2023 - Day 15 of quarantine

“Westchester County residents should be expected to shelter in place for at least 5 more weeks. Healthcare professionals are resigning by the hundreds as the disease spreads to nurses and doctors throughout the country. Over half of all patients that have tested positive for the Westchester Plague have either committed suicide or attempted to commit suicide. More at noon.”

“It only gets worse and worse every day,” Desirée frowns.

“Maybe we should take a break from the news for a while.” Andy turns the TV off and heads into the kitchen. “What do you want to eat?”

“Um…” Desirée could probably read him a numbered and alphabetized list of foods that she would ruin right about now, but she refrains. “What do we have?”

“Well, there’s some ramen in here…”

Not ideal, but it’ll have to do. They are in the middle of an epidemic, after all. “Awesome.”

So they eat chicken flavored ramen like a pair of broke college students while watching some old anime, which Andy adamantly rejects the second the words leave her lips (“Avatar: The Last Airbender is a cartoon, Desirée”), and she lets her mind wander.

Eventually, it arrives to Andy, as it seems to do more and more often these days. His name warms her skin like the sun on a late summer afternoon. His presence feels like the down comforter on her bed after a long day of work.

A small smile plays at her lips as she leans into the promise of an exciting summer and sweet dreams. It welcomes her with open arms and promises fond memories for years to come. But as soon as she goes to take it, she finds herself drenched in a raging storm.

While they polish off the last of their cups, a devastating truth hits her.

As lovely as their moment feels, its end is as inevitable as the bone-chilling winter or the start of a new day.

Monday, August 18th, 2023 - Day 16 of quarantine

“Did you want to give video games another try?” Andy asks tentatively. Then, like the infuriating bastard he is, he smirks. “I promise I’ll let you win.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Desirée retorts, donning a small smile.

“Don’t get too cocky or I’ll have to show you up.” Andy

After a tense round of Mortal Kombat, the TV screen flashes a victory. Andy slumps back, defeated.

“I...how…?”

“Lily and I used to play. I’m excellent at playing dumb, Andy,” Desirée smirks. “You know this about me.”

He shakes his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“If you say so.” Desiree rolls her neck and stretches her arms. “Ready for round 2?”

Tuesday, August 19th, 2023 - Day 17 of quarantine

“Scientists have found that cutis dissolutitis, better known as the Westchester Plague, mutated from Bacillus subtilis, a bacteria species found in dirt that acts as a decomposer of organic materials. It was first found in a large forest area. The best way to protect against this epidemic is to cover all exposed skin when you’re outside and sanitize once you’re inside.” A disgruntled news anchor reports from the outside of a nondescript building. The only patch of visible skin is around his eyes, which are covered by transparent goggles.

Desirée gasps suddenly. “Oh my god, the woods. Andy, you don’t think that…”

He catches the implication. “There’s no way. Devon would never do this.”

“We never suspected that Jane...or Noah…” She shakes her head. “I just hope not.”

Wednesday, August 20th, 2023 - Day 18 of quarantine

The official body count is projected to be 100. Over 200 citizens in the county have reported testing positive for the virus and 400 more are showing symptoms. Ignoring the news at this point is just short of irresponsible, but fear keeps her from lingering on the headlines.

As the day winds to a close, a feeling of dread slowly infiltrates her mind. The thought of tomorrow makes her skin crawl. Her stomach inverts and reverts on a constant loop as she reads yet another headline about yet another person committing suicide to avoid the disease.

The sun sets and she’s overcome with a terrible truth. A subtle prick of worry that blossoms into a deep ache in her chest that she can’t quite place.

“Something terrible is going to happen tomorrow.” Desirée whispers aloud. She locks herself in the bathroom as she feels the omen leave her lips. Andy doesn’t need to hear this. “Something that will change everything we thought was true.”

Thursday, August 21st, 2023 - Day 19 of quarantine

They don’t bother changing out of their pajamas anymore.

An alert on her phone tells her that the death toll in Westchester County has climbed from 100 to 1,000 overnight. Westchester alone has lost a third of its population. Then, she gets the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dizzy,” Lily sniffles.

She knows that something is very wrong for two reasons. One, no one has called her Dizzy since her junior year in high school. Two, Lily is a notorious night owl and wouldn’t be caught out of bed before 9 in the morning if she had her way, let alone willingly engaging in human interaction. If she was calling at 8 AM, it had to be serious.

“Lily, is everything okay?” Desirée whispered as she tiptoed out of bed to avoid waking Andy.

“It’s my mom.” She sobs, and suddenly she can no longer hear the hum of the vents above her head or the whirring of her computer on the coffee table. “She has the plague.”

“Lily, how long has she had it?”

“I don’t know.” She sobs harder. “They’re queueing everyone on the block for testing.”

“Lily, it’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay,” Desirée whispers. The burning in her eyes and the constricting feeling in her throat tell her that she’s crying, too. “You’re going to be okay.”

She’s lying through her teeth and she knows it, but the words seem to offer Lily some comfort as she recites them back to her.

“I will be okay,” she chokes out. “Everything will be okay.”

“If you need anything at all…”

“I know who to call,” Lily replies. The line goes dead.

Desirée holds the phone to her chest and sends a silent prayer. It’s bad enough that you’ve taken a third of our town. Please don’t take Lily, too.

Silent tears stream down her cheeks as she prays over and over again.

Don’t take Lily.

It’s that exact moment that Andy wraps his arms around Desirée’s middle and buries his head in the crook of her neck. She’s suddenly overcome with guilt and shame as she turns to him with shining eyes.

“Andy, I-”

“Shhh.” He shakes his head and pulls her into his chest, blinking back tears of his own. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Soon, everyone knows. The news is bleaker than ever, with cameras being shoved into the grieving families of the victims and the death toll climbing by the hour. As the day crawls to an end and she lays in Andy’s arms, one thing becomes astoundingly apparent.

Life will never be the same again.

Friday, August 22nd, 2023 - Day 20 of quarantine

It becomes physically unbearable to look at the news. Desirée briefly considers letting Andy unplug the TV again.

No one takes the news of Lily’s mother well, but Ava seems to struggle with it the most. She refuses to answer phone calls from anyone and only replies in short, but extremely worrying sentences.

“I wish this wasn’t going on so that I could check on her.” Desirée sighs after a fifth “missed” call. She’s curled up on the living room sofa with her head hanging on the arm. Her eyes are shut tight. “But here we are.”

“She’s never really been the emotional type, Rée.”

“That’s why I’m so worried about her. If she’s shutting down this early, what’s she gonna do if Mrs. Ortiz doesn’t make it?”

“I don’t know, but I think what Ava needs right now is space.”

“Andy, I can’t just let her spiral.” She sits up at this, frowning.

“I know it’s hard to see her like this, but you can’t protect everyone.”

“I know I can’t. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.” Desirée whispers. “But I can help.”

“What happened with Devon wasn’t your fault, Desirée. The only person you should blame is-”

“Don’t.”

“The point I’m making is that you don’t always have to be everyone’s person.” Andy stares deeply into her eyes. For a second, it feels as if he’s seeing her every flaw, every imperfection she’s buried deep into her heart and mind, every secret she’s ever kept and maybe even the ones she didn’t. For the longest second, it feels as if he’s peering into her soul and reading it with the ease of a picture book and she’s helpless to turn away and shut him out despite the fact that she desperately wants to. “You’re always so focused on being there for everyone else, but who’s going to be there for you?”

You. She almost whispers. It’s always been you.

“A therapist.” She replies instead, forcing a small smile. “And a bottle of wine.”

“Take care of yourself.” Andy squeezes her shoulders once and turns for the bedroom. “Let someone else be there for you once in a while.”

“Someone else like who?”

“I don’t think either one of us is ready for that conversation.”

“You sure?” Desirée retorts, suddenly emboldened. She’s not the only mind reader between them and she’ll be damned if Andy Kang gets to leave her wondering like every night before. “Because I feel plenty ready to talk. If you’re scared of going there, just say that.”

“Who’s scared?” Andy turns back around, staring her down. She holds her own, meeting his gaze head on. “I’ll go there if that’s what you want.”

“Hey, don’t hold back on my account. If you want to say something, I’m all ears.”

“Could you handle that?” He walks slowly toward her as he speaks, sizing her up. “Could you handle it if I told you that I wish you’d stop trying to play tough all the time and open up to me like you used to? That I wish we’d just quit this dance where we pretend we’re still not in love with each other?” Her breath catches and his face is inches away from hers, so much so that she can feel his breath on her cheeks. “Could you even function knowing that?”

“I could. You know why?” She finally responds, placing her hand directly onto his chest. “Nothing is the way it used to be, Andy. We’re not the way we used to be when this started and we’ll never be those people again. So I suggest…” She tilts her head upwards and brushes her lips against his chin. “...you make peace with that.”

She lets him meditate on her words as she heads toward the bedroom and into the conjoined bathroom, where she finally lets her face rest in her hands as she cries.

Saturday, August 23, 2023 - Day 21 of quarantine

They don’t speak for most of the day.

“I probably should’ve told you this earlier,” Desirée tells Andy during the evening. They’ve just eaten dinner. “But everything that happened on Thursday...I felt it.”

“You...what?”

“I’d just been feeling horrible all day and I thought my anxiety was just acting up, but then I just felt this ache in my chest and I knew something awful was going to happen.”

“What did it feel like?”

“Death.” She inhales a shaky breath before nodding resolutely. “It felt like death.”

#something gained #mc: desiree ashton #li: andy kang #ship: desiree x andy

9 notes · View notes

janobang-believer · 4 years

Text

Boris and Theo in Russia

I so desperately want to write something about Boris and Theo in Russia, like:

- Theo had a small hope that Boris would resurface in time for Christmas, like he usually did after Amsterdam

- however, Boris seemed to have disappeared completely; Theo told himself that it’s for the best

- suddenly Theo gets a call from Boris on 4th January, with not much explanation, a lot of expression and an “it’s about time you get to experience a proper Christmas”

- “but Christmas was two weeks ago”/ “come on Potter, the true rozhdestvo is on 7th January, let’s not listen to my Polish colleagues”

- “come with me to Moscow”

- and this is how Theo finds himself in the Russian embassy, which is not even open full time at the moment

- meanwhile, Boris smiles his wicked smile at the elderly lady who works there and moves a cashmere jumper across to her

- a Russian visa is immediately issued; normally it takes about a month

- this is the first time Theo has seen someone use a jumper as a bribe; Boris just laughs and tells Theo that the trick is to never go to any government office without a box of chocolates just in case

- they get a direct flight to Moscow Domodedovo airport the next day

- it’s snowing and no one takes the snow away, “the money for this was stolen long ago” Boris explains curtly

- “can’t remember the last time Moscow was so warm zimoi” it’s only -10 Celsius

- Theo watches the black-and-white trees, dirty snow and abandoned factories from the taxi window, thinking of Boris

- Boris books a hotel not far from Kuznetskiy Most metro station

- they walk towards Tverskaya Street, buying pirozhki with meat

- Theo marvels at the street lights and overall happy atmosphere - very different from what he saw on the way there

- “a lot of money can be stolen on street lights” according to Boris, but despite his cynism, he too seems to enjoy himself

- in Uspenski cathedral, Boris lights a candle; his eyes become slightly orange from all the candle fire

- he murmurs something in Russian, like a prayer - knowing Boris’s relationship with religion, it can be anything

- Theo watches the Orthodox icons on the walls, thinks they should visit Tretyakovskaya gallery tomorrow

- the cathedral gets busier, people are ready to celebrate Christmas eve; Boris lights up another candle and abruptly leaves

- they walk around until Theo can’t feel his fingers

- Boris pulls off his woolen gloves and silently puts them on Theo, ignoring the protests

- they turn into some narrow passageway, the combination of yellow and pink houses reminds Theo of a Battenburg

- “before revolutsiya, this part of Moscow was called Khitrovka” says Boris, “the criminal heaven”

- the passageway is so narrow that if they face each other, backs to the opposite walls, there is only a couple of inches between them

- Theo looks at Boris and thinks of old Moscow described by Tolstoy and later by Bulgakov, the books he’s read for his Russian class

- this place, old Khitrovka, feels a lot more Boris than shiny lights they have just abandoned

- Boris looks up at him, his eyes sparkle, “in those times it would be very inadvisable for someone like you to walk here alone, Potter”

- “but I am not alone” Theo whispers before he can stop himself

- Boris finally steps into some rather dodgy looking bar, before his fingers get frostbite

- the tables are covered by rubber clothes, kleenki, and a tired looking waiter brings them vodka in granennye glasses before they even ask for it

- Theo manages a spasibo

- Boris murmurs along with a song about rabbits

- they order plates of pelmeni with sour cream and a bottle, all under 400 roubles (7 dollars) in total

- Boris engages in a long conversation with the owner, who points at Theo more often than not

- Theo really wants to ask whether the whole universe knows about him

- but it really appears as if the whole Boris’s universe knows about him...

- after this much vodka Theo can’t help but think that he would happily live in this cold and foreign place just to witness more of Boris in his element

- “just wait till you see Odessa” Boris laughs, “and you won’t even need a visa”

- they talk about Russian literature because somehow vodka encourages it

- at a certain point, Boris decides to recite Blok, translating as he goes along

- his translations are shit but Theo understands everything based on the emotions in Boris’s voice

- “Russians take pride in their misery; perhaps there is something to be learnt there” Boris explains in his I-am-drunk-hence-I-can-do-philosophy-even-better-than-usually voice

- clock strikes midnight

- “merry Christmas, Potter”, Boris says tenderly and briefly touches Theo’s hand, quick enough for everyone else to ignore but long enough for Theo to exhale a bit too loudly

- they leave and walk towards Arbat, stopping outside Pushkin’s monument

- Boris looks at Theo, whispering something in Russian

- Theo recognises the lines from the letter that Tatiana wrote to Eugine Onegin

- “no, no one on this earth is there to whom I’d give my heart”

- “but your honour is my guarantee and to that I entrust my destiny”

- and Theo thinks back to the poem, to the way Onegin rejected Tatiana only to realise his mistake years later

- Pushkin’s monument stares at him through the night, as if saying “yes, Theo, this is why I wrote Onegin like that in the first place”

- perhaps it is here, in deserted Arbat, in front of Pushkin, that he should listen to some more Russian wisdom

- he looks at the snowflakes melting in Boris’s hair

- their kiss is cold at first, lips freezing, Theo’s glasses bump into Boris’s face

- warmth inside them works better than vodka though

- Pushkin and his wife Natalia smile carefully at them - but that’s definitely vodka talking

- the breadth of Russian love, however, doesn’t have boundaries

-------------

Quotes from Pushkin’s Onegin are taken from here: http://www.pushkins-poems.com/Yev311.htm

#the goldfinch #tgf #boreo #boreo headcanon #boris pavlikovsky #theo decker #eugene onegin #moscow #rozhdestvo

7 notes · View notes

waypathfinder · 5 years

Text

Crimson Lane - Chapter 3 - Dreams and Promises

Moodboard by @ashtyntaytertot Beta’d by @kathknight and @ashtyntaytertot

Links

Tumblr Master Post

Archive of our Own

Fanfiction.net

Chapter Text

Rey awoke in the night, disoriented and confused.

An arm curled around her waist. Kylo Ren’s arm. The memory rushed back to her. The hairs on her neck prickled with each slow breath he took, his broad chest rising and falling against her back.

She unfurled his arm from her body and placed it before him. His brows twitched at the movement, her breath caught in her throat and she froze. He did not wake.

Outside, the moon was breaking a path through the dark overcast sky. She crept out of bed, walking towards the window, her naked form silhouetted against the streaming moonlight. The street was empty now, loose sheets of a newspaper flittered along the pavement beneath the bright lamplight. There were no cars other than the few parked by the road and not a single soul wandered the lonely streets. It was eerily quiet, the silence only broken by sudden gusts of winds that moaned in strained cries and churned up the leaves into whirlwinds.

“Don’t go.”

Rey’s heart jolted at the sound of his voice. She turned around to see his ash-white body lit up beneath the waning moon.

“I’m not—” She stopped to look at him. His eyes were racing beneath pale lids, face grimacing and tightening as different expressions chased each other. He was asleep. His fingers twitched, reaching for the spot on the bed that was still warm from her body.

She returned to his side, leaning in close to study him. He was light and darkness. Every feature in contrast to the other. He was all shadows and lines, pointed cheekbones, angled jaw, soft lips, long lashes. His dark hair cascaded across his face parting around his large ears. He was ugly from one angle. Beautiful from the other. But striking and captivating.

“Please,” his voice cracked into a chilling whisper. She shivered at the sound.

“Kylo?” she whispered back, touching his shoulder, but there was no response.

His hand reached forward again, searching the sheets. He looked so alone. It reminded her of all the times she had spent the night cold and lonely, shivering beneath a summer blanket on a winter evening. Tears lashing from her eyes knowing there was no one there to help her, to hold her hand, to save her from her nightmares.

She crept back into bed. Her body folded into the curve of his own and his arm found her again. She felt safe in his hold, momentarily wanted in this world by someone. It was an illusion, of course, a twisted painful lie, but still, at that moment she imagined what it was like to be loved. Her chest heaved unsteadily at the thought, and she allowed herself to drift back to sleep.

Her mind fell into dreams, dark shadows dragging her back into the past, dragging her into a world she’d struggled so hard to leave behind her every day.

She was lying on the floor of the lounge room, one of the many lounge rooms she had called her own for a time. The Moroccan rug was worn, she remembered, patches of it frayed. She pulled at a thread, wishing in her dream she could unravel it and she would fall through the ground into a better place. She pulled and pulled at the thread, a burgundy bind that would not break no matter how hard she yanked. It went on for miles, and she wondered what lay on the end.

Then he was behind her, the man who haunted her dreams almost every night. His face hidden behind a shadow of darkness. He chased her through the rooms of an abandoned house. Always too close. Always hindering her escape. He grabbed her hair and yanked her back. And now she was on the floor, curled in a ball.

She jolted awake.

Thump! This time she wasn’t dreaming. Kylo thrashed behind her, arms and legs trapped in their own nightmare. And then a low groan, a guttural noise that chilled her blood. He shot up, his legs kicking over the side of the bed, hands wringing through his hair. Rey reached for his back.

Her fingers made contact, and his breath caught. His skin was hot to touch, glistening with sweat.

“It’s okay.” She sat behind him, touching his shoulder uncertainly. “It was just a nightmare. I have them too.”

He didn’t respond, but his breathing resumed, slower but still unsteady as his shoulders trembled beneath her touch.

“It’s okay,” she said again in a hushed tone, her fingers circling his back in slow caressing turns. There was something painfully raw about the way he sat there, naked in the moonlight the words forming in her chest. Despite the night before, despite everything in this crazy situation. She knew the pain of haunted dreams, she knew what it was like to run away from your past during the day only to have it catch up with you in the night. It never went, not really. She had tried to bury her past, but it never died.

Rey cupped her fingers over his shaking shoulders, and he stilled at her touch, his skin prickled in goosebumps. His hand reached to her own, long fingers covering her.

“You’re not alone.” She didn’t mean to say it, but the words pried themselves from her lips, given a life of their own.

He stood, hand slipping away from hers.

“Go back to sleep.” His words were sharp, a commanding edge that made her think he was used to ordering people about.

“What are you…” Her words drifted away. He was pulling his trousers on in a rush, his shirt, once crumpled on the floor, now sliding onto his back as his fingers moved clumsily to fasten them. “You’re leaving?”

Silence.

“But you still have a couple of hours left,” she said, her eyes and cheeks growing hot as the words left her lips. She wanted nothing more to curl up on a ball on the floor. It was bad enough being paid for having sex with someone, but having them walk out without even… She shuddered. It was so much worse. “We can go again, here let me…”

“I’m done.” He picked up the rest of his belongings and walked out the door, leaving Rey alone in the bed, naked and confused.

There were voices from the foyer. Furtive, pressing, voices exchanged in low hisses. She stood atop the stairs, her hand reaching for the polished mahogany banister, her foot dangling above the step below, toying with the idea of going down.

“Yes, of course, Mr Ren,” Phasma was saying, working hard to placate him, her voice accentuating every word.

More words from him. Inaudible. Sharp. Rude. Rey’s cheeks tingled. What was he saying about her? She took a step lower, rolling the soles of her feet to make sure the steps didn’t creak at the sound. The conversation continued.

“I can assure you I went through the rules. I will book you in with a different girl next month,” she grabbed the planner, tapping her pen against it in a staccato rhythm. “How about Tessa?”

Kylo spoke. His words still rude. Still sharp. Still inaudible. Rey took a breath and another step, straining to listen.

“Yes, it is unacceptable,” Phasma said testily. “It was only her first night. It was wrong of me to pair her with you.”

She stepped again, the slightest creak, as her toes touched the next level, but it wasn’t loud enough to draw their attention.

“What do you mean it was her first night?” His voice was louder now; she could feel the anger in his words. Rey took one more step closer, her last one, she swore to herself. “Is she not a sex worker?”

“She’s just a kid who’s gotten in over her head with debt,” Phasma said with a cruel curl of her lips. Rey bristled at the “kid” reference. She was 22 and had been doing it tough on her own since she was 16. Hardly a fucking kid who had just forgotten to pay off her Visa card. She clutched the railing, stopping herself from doing or saying anything rash. She was on the edge of being fired.

Phasma continued: “Tonight was her first shift. I wanted to her to get practice in before Snoke—”

“No Snoke.” He interrupted her brusquely, raising a hand to silence her.

“Mr Snoke will want to try her out.”

“When is he due to come?”

Rey risked another step closer.

Phasma checked her planner, tapping her finger on a point within the pages. “Friday.”

“Book her with me on Friday,” he blurted in that same commanding tone.

Phasma pursed her lips tightly.“ Mr Snoke will not be happy.”

“I don’t care. Book for the full-night again. No other clients that night.”

Rey swore in her head. The mere thought of going through tonight again was… She didn’t know what it was, perplexing, uncomfortable, confronting and just plain weird.

Phasma sighed. “Very well, booking for Desert Flower. It will cost you though.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? After tonight I shouldn’t have to pay a cent,” Kylo spat, and Rey flushed.

“I said I was sorry about that,” Phasma said and checked the planner once more. “She’s on the next couple of nights. I’ll get her up to speed by Friday.”

“Fine.” Kylo glowered, tossing his credit card at her as though it were nothing. Rey risked one more step, but this time his eyes snapped up at her. She quickly retreated, but it was too late; he had seen her.

“Charge it through to Friday.”

“I beg your pardon?” Phasma asked incredulously.

What? Rey froze, darting her eyes back at him in disbelief.

“Every night through to Friday,” he added, not taking his eyes off her and having no shame to turn them away from her.

“There’s no discount, you know? It’s still $400 an hour.” Rey did the maths in her head. By the end of the week… shit by the end of the week she would have paid off just under half of her debt, or at least the first installment, but that was all she could focus on.

“Fine. I’m out-of-town tomorrow but don’t have her fucking anyone else. Completely block her out,” he said, again with that authoritative tone.

Phasma sighed again, her lips pressing even tighter together. “Fine. She’s off limits. No bookings.”

Rey had made it to the top of the steps now, stopping just out of a view, her heart flipped.

“Now give her a copy of those fucking rules and make sure she can recite them blind by the time I come back,” he said loudly, to both of them Rey suspected.

“Yes, Mr Ren.”

“And Phasma?” He paused. Rey closed her eyes, dreading whatever would come next. “Buy the girl some fucking lube.”

#crimson lane #reylo #reylo au #reylo fanfic #reylo fanfic rec

1 note · View note